


Construct

by archi



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archi/pseuds/archi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could almost imagine that the pressure on his back was the familiar weight of his wings.</p><p> </p><p>Note: Belongs to <b>By Grace We Are Saved</b> verse, but can be read alone. One-Shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Construct

Castiel was trapped. He struggled and twisted his body and clawed at his restraints, eyes wide and unseeing. His mind flung out wildly, reaching for any sense that might tell him where he was or why he was being held. He tried to remember, tried to give himself a context even as he writhed.

“ _Cas - Cas stop! you’re fine!_ ”

A sound rose up from his chest but stuck in his throat and he moaned.

“ _Cas!_ ”

He’d been standing in his eternal afternoon, looking over the lawns, scattered with ashen imprints of wings...but there had been no angels, just replicas of Dean crumpled where Castiel’s slaughtered family should be.

“ _Cas, buddy - OW! Dammit Cas!_ ”

He looked around frantically, searching for the real Dean - the one he hadn’t killed. He fell to his hands and knees, pushing his fingers against unresponsive pulse points as his hands and sleeves smearing with blood.

“ _hold_ still _!_ ”

The ground had pulled at him, eaten up his feet and legs and he was drowning in the grass, flailing arms useless to stop him as he was pulled down, down...

And then he was falling. Fear sent his stomach plummeting as gravity wrapped all around him and the ground screamed at him and above there was nothing but he was getting turned around and around.

Then he was yanked by his stomach into consciousness, arms were tight around him and a solid warmth against his back. Soothing words begging into his shoulder.

“C’mon, Cas. Wake up, it’s alright, it’s okay. You’re safe, you’re fine. C’mon, wake up...”

Dean. His mind held desperately onto the name. Dean. _Dean Dean Dean_.

He let the name run like a mantra, soothing his mind enough to allow his senses to grasp his surroundings. Bed, bedclothes, dark, Dean.

The hold over his chest loosened slightly, Dean pulling away, and then there was the light of the bedside lamp too harsh on his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to clear his eyesight. He was sweaty and cold all the same time. All but one of the sheets had found their way to the floor, the remaining clutched under his white knuckles.

“Hey, Cas, it’s alright, it’s alright, buddy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Cas.” the words were hot against his neck and accompanied by gentle bumps of nose and mouth as he was rocked back and forth.

The grip over his chest was firm, but not confining enough to restrain his erratic breathing. He reached up, clutching at Dean’s arm - catching the shoulder of his shirt and pulling it into his fist.

“Cas. Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He tried to shape a word, an apology, one to fit his embarrassment and shame but it was only his distress that pushed out in a garbled, strangled sound that made Dean press his forehead to Castiel’s clammy neck, his words muffled and lost between them.

So he stopped trying to talk. He made the air come in and out and tried to send the images and fear away with every exhale. Dean rocked them until Castiel felt himself relax, his breathing evening out and his leg cramping because of the odd angle.

He moved it, pushing his foot stiffly down the bed, watching his hand relax and release the last sheet. The edge dropped, soft and still formed in the shape that his fist had molded it into. Dean pulled back gently, giving Castiel time to gain balance. He set a shaking hand down on the mattress to lean on as Dean’s arms pulled slightly at his damp t-shirt at they left.

Castiel turned and looked over his other side. Dean was seated on the edge of the bed in a dark t-shirt and shorts, eyes wide at searching.

“You okay there, Cas?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Yeah, I figured...” Dean looked down to his lap, then back up, asking without asking.

“It was...a nightmare.”

“Okay...” Dean said, “You were...you were yelling pretty loud.”

“I apologize, I’ll...” Castiel didn’t know how to keep quiet when he was asleep. He felt too awake but sluggish at the same time. The images of the nightmare were slipping away and he shook his head, as if that might speed their departure. His muscles were all tight around his shoulders and if he only had wings he’d stretch them and -

“No, that’s not what I meant - I mean, are you alright?” Dean asked firmly.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean muttered, and Castiel looked over again to see him running a hand over his face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Beg pardon,” Castiel said half-heartedly. He didn’t know what Dean wanted here.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Dean said, and a warm hand settled between Castiel’s shoulder blades.

Castiel exhaled, his head dropping, eyes closing. If he concentrated, he could almost imagine that the pressure on his back was the familiar weight of his wings. He breathed slowly, concentrating on the sensation, feeling his shoulders relax and droop.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was worried, and Castiel twitched in protest when the hand slid away, resting on his shoulder and Dean’s body settled in front of Castiel, rather than behind.

He sighed, looked up into Dean’s worry and confusion.

“What was that?”

“My wings...It’s strange, without them. For a moment I imagined that I felt them again and it was...comforting.”

Dean was looking at him with something familiar - something Castiel hadn’t seen in his direction in a long time. Something like awe and even some reverence - not that Dean had ever really been reverent towards Castiel, but it was there in some measure now.

“Did it...help? I mean would it help you feel better? Sleep, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said.

“...Should I stay?”

The question gave him pause. ‘Should’ implied some obligation, some absolute answer to the affirmative or the negative and Castiel didn’t know which was correct. This was one of those things, he supposed, one of the human nuances that he had yet to memorize.

Dean cleared his throat, “Would you like me to stay?”

That was, all at once, simpler and ten times as confusing. Yes. Yes he wanted the comforting weight of Dean’s hand on his back. Yes he ached to feel his wings and even this pretend shadow put him at ease. But there were boundaries, invisible but almost visceral - ones he hadn’t been so aware of before but now he felt himself, standing at the edge of one that hummed with tension. His shoulders stiffened again in frustration because he didn’t know what answer he was supposed to give - he didn’t know the rules and he didn’t want to do something foolish. He was tired of being wrong and foolish and fumbling through without ever really knowing where it would take him. He wanted security and assurance and comfort and he didn’t know how to ask for them.

Dean’s hand left his shoulder as he rose from the bed and Castiel’s insides dropped unpleasantly just a protest rose in his throat. He swallowed it down, along with his disappointment. Dean must have taken his hesitation as a negative response.

Dean was gathering the bedclothes that had fallen to the ground. He turned to Castiel, looked him up and down dryly.

“Can’t make a bed with you on it.”

Confused, Castiel pushed himself off. He didn’t like the cold of the floor on his feet and he winced a little, rocking back on his heels to keep as much of his feet off of the floor as possible.

“C’mon,” Dean said expectantly. He was holding out one edge of a sheet to Castiel, who took it. 

Layer by layer, they replaced the sheet, blankets and comforter that Castiel had kicked off. The fabrics billowed as they pulled them over the mattress and then settled. Dean tucked the ends of the bedding under the foot of the bed and then stepped back.

“Not bad. Don’t let Sam see you or he’ll hire you on as a maid.”

Dean then padded to the other side of the room, pulled back the covers, and slipped inside the newly made bed.

Castiel stood still, confusion poking at his mind.

“Just get in bed, Cas. I’m tired,” groaned Dean after a few moments of silence.

Castiel got into the bed, glad to be off the cold floor but unsure exactly what was happening. He usually - well, for the last few weeks - had lay on his front to sleep but he didn’t know if he was supposed to look at Dean or away.

And then it didn’t really matter. Dean’s hand was resting on his back and it was warm. Dean moved closer, the weight of his arm following.

Castiel closed his eyes, his mind translating the warm pressure into the reassuring weight of his wings.

“Cas?”

Had he done something wrong? “Yes?”

“Wanna turn off that light?”

“Oh...of course,” he reached over and pushed the switch on the base of the lamp, then settled back in moving closer to press his back against Dean’s hand and arm.

He thought he heard Dean’s part laugh-part exhale, but chose to ignore it. He closed his eyes once more and constructed the sensation of wings again.

“‘night, Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

He couldn’t see or feel the world around him as he once did. The subtle currents of air that moved about constantly were now lost on him, but he imagined Dean’s breath, curling lightly against Castiel’s neck, perhaps picking up with the subtle ventilation in the room and filtering through his feathers. He smiled into his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> I drew a piece for this fic. Can be found here....
> 
> http://iramblez.tumblr.com/post/51185051497/scene-from-construct-by-me-archi-on-ao3-he


End file.
